


The Motion of the Ocean

by sahiya



Series: Shattuck-St. Mary's Kane/Toews AU [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fishing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Seasickness, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 17:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Patrick was never going to agree to decide a vacation on the flip of a coin again.





	The Motion of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muscatlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muscatlove/gifts).



> This was written for muscatlove as part of my "2017 Fuck Trump H/C Bingo Fundraiser." Basically, I created and posted a [custom h/c Bingo card](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). In exchange for donations to various organizations resisting Trump's agenda, I write hurt/comfort fics based on the prompts. 
> 
> I am officially out of prompts! Thanks to everyone who has donated. We are all in this together.
> 
> Many thanks to saudades for the beta. The prompt on this one was "motion sickness." It is set in my AU where Patrick and Jonny were both at Shattuck-St. Mary's as teenagers and have been together since they were sixteen/seventeen, but you can read it as a standalone. This is set the summer after Jonny's concussion.

Patrick was never going to agree to decide a vacation on the flip of a coin again. 

They’d narrowed it down to somewhere tropical with a beach and then each picked a resort. Heads, they’d go to Patrick’s. Which was, if he could say so himself, fucking awesome. They had private villas with infinity pools, actual honest-to-God _beds on the beach_ , three different four star restaurants that all had things that wouldn’t harm the extremely delicate ecosystem in Jonny’s gut, and – because Patrick was supporting his partner in his sudden turn toward eastern philosophy even if he thought it was kind of crazy – yoga instructors who did private sessions. It was perfect. 

And frankly, with all the shit they’d gone through in the last six months – Jonny’s concussion, getting knocked out of the playoffs early, coming out and getting civil union’d – they deserved “perfect.” Patrick didn’t want to run into fans. He didn’t want pap photos to end up on the internet. He wanted ten days where he didn’t have to think about anything or talk to anyone who wasn’t Jonny. 

So that was heads. Unfortunately, fate was not that kind to Patrick. It had gone tails, which meant Jonny got to choose. 

And Jonny, because he was a jerk, had chosen a sustainable ecolodge in Panama with _composting toilets._ He didn’t even want to stay in one of the perfectly good air conditioned rooms, he wanted to stay in what they – generously – called “tented suites.” Otherwise known as _tents_. 

“I hate you,” Patrick said flatly.

“Oh come on, this is hardly roughing it,” Jonny said. “Just think, this way you won’t have to listen to me complain about the carbon footprint of the resort.”

That did sound like a major plus. “Fine. But if I’m eaten alive by mosquitoes, neither of us is going to get vacation-laid.”

“We’ll dip you in organic, DEET-free bug spray,” Jonny promised, grinning. “Would it help if I promised to be naked most of the time?”

“Whatever,” Patrick muttered, even though it totally did, and Jonny knew it, the asshole. 

A few days into their vacation, Patrick was willing to admit that he might’ve been a little quick to judge. Their accommodations were more tent-like than he liked, but the food was amazing and the island was beautiful. And Jonny _was_ naked most of the time, which was always A+ excellent in Patrick’s book. 

On the fifth day, he was rudely wakened before dawn by Jonny shaking his shoulder. “Pat. Come on, Pat, time to get up.”

“Why?” Patrick whined, trying to roll away. 

“Fishing! You said you’d go when I booked this trip. Come on, the boat leaves in twenty and we have to be on it.”

“There had better be coffee,” Patrick grumbled, dragging himself upright. 

“There’s coffee here,” Jonny said, and put a compostable cup in his hand. Patrick nearly gulped it, but at the last minute he changed his mind and sipped. It was scaldingly hot, but at least Jonny had put real cream and sugar in it. 

Swim trunks, t-shirt, wind-breaker, hat. Sunglasses in his pocket for later, since, oh right, _the sun wasn’t even up yet_. Real shoes for the path down to the water, boat shoes for the boat. Patrick was barely awake as he stumbled after Jonny toward the beach, second cup of coffee clutched firmly in hand. 

Their chartered boat was waiting for them, along with breakfast and more coffee. Jonny had shelled out extra for a private guide, who introduced herself cheerfully as Anita. Her dad was from Panama and her mom was from the U.S., she explained as they boarded the boat, and she was doing this to help work her way through college. She had clearly never heard of them and didn’t care about hockey, which was all Patrick really needed to know in order to like her. 

“You want something to eat?” Jonny asked him, loading up a plate with corn tortilla breakfast burritos. 

“I really don’t,” Patrick said, refilling his coffee cup and throwing himself down onto a padded bench. “It’s too early to eat.”

“You should eat,” Anita told him as she slid into the captain’s seat. “It’s calm here in the bay, but there are big swells out in the open ocean, where we’re headed. You’ll feel better if you’ve got something in your stomach.”

“I’m fine,” Patrick said, sipping his coffee. Jonny came and sat beside him, and Patrick leaned against him, letting his head fall to rest against Jonny’s shoulder. 

They were heading west, so the rising sun was behind them. Jonny prodded him into turning to look at it: the pink sky, shading to yellow at the horizon where the sun was just starting to peek over. They’d seen a lot of sunsets over the ocean so far, but this was probably the only time Patrick was going to see a sunrise. It was pretty enough to stop his grumbling. Jonny slung an arm around his chest, holding him tightlyagainst him. 

The sun was over the horizon but the island wasn’t out of sight yet when Anita cut the engine. She retrieved the fishing gear from inside one of the other benches and started digging out rods from inside the benches of the boat

“Are we there already?” Patrick asked in confusion. He’d thought they had a ways to go to get to the really good fishing. 

“No,” she said, checking the line on the pole she handed to him. “This is where we catch our bait.”

Great. _Pre-fishing._ Patrick managed not to sigh as he stood up and let Jonny explain to him how to release the bell and let the line drop, reeling it back in patiently. Jonny had been reading up on deep sea fishing, and there was nothing Jonny liked better than explaining to Patrick how to do something. Patrick generally liked to needle him by asking the most annoying questions he could come up with, but at the moment he was just too fucking tired. It was definitely the path of least resistance to just let Jonny explain. 

Fortunately, Anita had picked a good spot and they all managed to catch a decent number of small snapper to use as bait. They packed it away in a cooler, and Anita took the helm again. Patrick settled back in against Jonny, sunglasses and hat on, for the ninety minute trip out to the big game area in open water.

They were maybe fifty minutes out when Patrick realized that something was not quite right. Another ten went by before he identified the not-quite-right feeling in the pit of his stomach as nausea. He shifted, sitting up and swallowing, and deeply regretted the three cups of coffee he’d drunk that morning. 

“You okay?” Jonny asked, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Patrick said. Because he was fine. It wasn’t even that rough. He’d feel better when when the boat stopped moving, he thought, turning his face into the wind. 

Jonny got up and grabbed bottles of water for both of them. “Stay hydrated,” he told Patrick firmly. Patrick rolled his eyes, but he also cracked open the water bottle and sipped at it carefully. It helped, sort of. 

Patrick zoned out, leaning against Jonny and trying to ignore whatever was happening in his stomach. He nearly managed to doze off, until he was woken by the white noise of the engine cutting out. He sat up and saw that they were out in the open ocean, not a speck of land to be seen. But they definitely weren’t alone. There were a ton of other boats, some of them a lot bigger than theirs, with lines in the water.

“This is a popular spot for a reason,” Anita said. “This time of year, we’ll have bluefin tuna if we’re lucky. They take some serious muscle to bring in, but I assume a couple of hockey players are up to the challenge.”

“You bet,” Jonny said, standing up to take a rod from her. She handed him a harness, as well, and he looped it around his waist. “Pat, you’ll want one of these. These tuna are upwards of fifty pounds, you’ll want the extra stability when you try and bring one in.”

“Sure,” Patrick said, and stood up. The boat rocked and he staggered. 

Jonny grabbed hold of him. “Whoa! Having trouble finding your sea legs, are you?”

“Something like that,” Patrick muttered. He’d been wrong; it wasn’t better now that the boat wasn’t moving. If anything, it was _worse_. 

Jonny looked puzzled, but Anita, glancing at him, frowned. “Patrick, are you feeling seasick?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Anita didn’t look convinced. Neither did Jonny. “You should have eaten breakfast,” Jonny said. “Did you have anything that wasn’t coffee?”

Patrick glared at him. “I can’t tell you what a help you’re being right now.”

“It’s okay, Patrick,” Anita broke in, before things could devolve further. “You’re hardly the first person to have this happen to them. I keep a stash of ginger ale and plain crackers on board for emergencies. I also have Dramamine, if you want it. It can’t hurt, but it’s less effective if you take it after you start feeling ill.”

“Thank you,” Patrick told her, and scowled at Jonny. “See? That is what supportive looks like.”

“I was _supportive_ when I suggested you eat something before we left the dock,” Jonny grumbled, turning back to his rod. 

Patrick rolled his eyes at Jonny’s back. Anita handed him a ginger ale, a bag of oyster crackers, and a Dramamine pill. She told him to go sit down and keep his eyes on the horizon for a few minutes. Patrick slumped onto the bench and sipped obediently at his can of soda, nibbling on a cracker whenever he felt particularly brave. He was aware of Jonny and Anita fishing in his peripheral vision, but he was totally rocking this “eyes on the horizon” thing and didn’t really want to stop. 

“Holy shit,” Jonny said suddenly. He turned to look and saw Jonny’s rod bending with the force of whatever he’d caught. Anita hurried over and showed him how to get the rod clipped onto the harness. Jonny widened his stance to brace himself and started trying to reel the fish in. 

It looked like a ton of work. Jonny was a pretty big guy and really strong, even if he wasn’t as heavy as he would be by the end of the summer. But that fish was giving him a hell of a fight. Jonny was patient, brow creased in concentration as he focused on reeling the fish in. 

It was the sort of thing Patrick usually loved to watch. Jonny had been trying to make a real fisherman out of Patrick since he was sixteen, with limited success. Usually when they went fishing at the lake house, Patrick ended up drinking and watching Jonny while he fished. Preferably shirtless. Jonny got all sunbaked and tan and usually a little tipsy, but he was also just...good at fishing. The whole package tended to get Patrick kind of inappropriately turned on.

That was so not the case right now. 

Patrick had started to feel a little better while he was sipping his ginger ale and watching the horizon, but even just a couple of minutes of watching Jonny wrestle with his fish was enough to undo all of that and then some. The swells out here didn’t _look_ very big, but Patrick felt each one of them like a dip in a roller coaster. A roller coaster he couldn’t get off of. 

“Dammit!” Jonny yelled as his line snapped. He leaned over the side as whatever he’d been fighting swam away. “Jesus, that was a big fucking fish. Did you see that?” he asked, turning to Patrick. 

“No,” Patrick admitted. 

“It was probably a sixty pound tuna, maybe more,” Anita said. “You almost had it, too.”

“Ah well, maybe I’ll have better luck on the next one.” He pushed off the railing and looked at Patrick. “You feeling better? Want to try?”

“Sure,” Patrick said, deciding he might as well distract himself. Watching the horizon wasn’t helping anymore. He ate a couple more crackers and finished his can of ginger ale. 

Anita had a rod all ready for him by the time he got to his feet. He and Jonny cast their lines out at the same time, and Patrick let Jonny’s voice wash over him as he explained the ecological impact of sport fishing – minimal, apparently, in comparison to commercial fishing. Patrick was watching the horizon again, but it felt like the boat was bobbing up and down even more now that he was standing, and he was starting to regret having put anything at all in his stomach. 

“You okay?” Jonny asked, finally noticing that Patrick hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes. 

Patrick shrugged. “I’m not feeling so hot. And _don’t_ tell me it’s because I didn’t eat breakfast,” he added before Jonny could say anything. 

“Sorry,” Jonny said, sounding genuinely contrite. He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and squeezed. “You want us to head back?”

Patrick kind of did, but... “Nah,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, but it’s like ninety minutes for us to get back, and it could get worse.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick said firmly. “Just catch something, all right? Or I’ll be really annoyed.”

“Okay, okay,” Jonny said, and grinned at him before turning his attention back to his rod.

Patrick’s line jerked and his rod bent suddenly, almost pulling itself right out of Patrick’s hands. “Whoa,” he yelped, tightening his grip. Anita hurried over and helped Patrick clip the rod onto his harness. Just in time, too, because whatever was on the other end of it was definitely trying to swim away with the rod and Patrick and maybe the whole damn boat. Patrick braced himself the way he’d seen Jonny do it, stance widened, leaning back slightly. 

The stupid fish fought him every step of the way, demanding every ounce of Patrick’s concentration. It was impossible to look at the horizon; he had to look at the water and the rod in his hands. Within a couple minutes, the nausea, which had mostly been an annoyance, became a real issue. 

Patrick broke out in a cold sweat and had to swallow back the rising sick feeling. He almost wished the fish would break the line and swim away so he could – what, exactly? Nothing was going to help, Patrick realized. They were ninety minutes from the island, like Jonny had said, and the Dramamine wasn’t working. And Jonny had been looking forward to this, goddammit. Patrick wasn’t going to let a queasy stomach ruin the entire day.

To Patrick’s shock, the fish didn’t break the line. It took nearly twenty minutes, but at last the fish broke the surface, thrashing. Patrick lurched forward, and Anita swooped with a net. 

It was _huge_. Huge and fucking ugly. It took Patrick and Anita both to haul it into the boat. Patrick took the obligatory photo, holding it up with a grin, so he could prove that he, not Jonny, had been the one to catch something.

“That’s going over the goddamn mantle,” Patrick said, momentarily cheered by the idea. “I’m gonna get a giant print of it, canvas wrapped. Just so everyone can see it right when they come in.”

Jonny’s face was kind of twitching, like he didn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, and helped Patrick lower the fish back into the water. It immediately swam away, vanishing back into the depths. “You’re not going to be that lucky again.”

“Luck! That was patience and perseverance, my friend.”

“And luck,” Jonny said. 

Patrick shrugged. “And luck,” he agreed. 

“You want to cast again?” Anita asked them. “Or try another spot?”

Jonny glanced at Patrick. “What do you think? How’re you feeling?”

He still wasn’t feeling great, but he’d gotten a shot of adrenaline from the catch that had kind of helped. He thought he was due to sit down and have another ginger ale, but if his level of queasiness stayed right where it was, he was probably fine. “Better,” he said. “Lead on.”

Anita took them out toward a reef where she said people often caught huge, hundred pound tuna this time of year. Patrick actually felt a lot better with the wind in his face. Jonny’s arm around his shoulders didn’t hurt, or maybe that was the ginger ale he was sipping on steadily. Either way, by the time they reached the reef, he’d had a couple more handfuls of crackers and he was actually feeling pretty okay. 

Jonny, who didn’t seem to be at all affected by motion of the boat, ate a packed lunch of chicken salad, tortilla chips, and guacamole. It looked good, but about three seconds spent imagining what it’d taste like coming back up was enough to make Patrick steer clear. He _liked_ guac. The last thing he wanted was to develop an aversion to it.

They got a solid couple of hours of fishing in. Patrick caught another big tuna, which annoyed the shit out of Jonny, and then, finally, Jonny got a monster on his line. The fish was big enough and strong enough that Anita actually hooked Jonny up to a free-standing support in the middle of the boat to give him some extra leverage. Jonny braced himself with a look of total concentration, ignoring Patrick’s helpful commentary (which he felt both qualified and obligated to give, since he’d caught two more fish than Jonny that day).

Jonny was deep into reeling his fish in when Patrick started feeling weird again. Glancing at the water, he realized the wind had picked up and the swells looked bigger than they had even fifteen minutes earlier. “Hey, are we gonna get rained on?” he asked Anita. 

“No, we should be fine,” she said, distracted by helping Jonny. “There’s a storm further out to sea. It might brush by the island tonight, but we’re okay right now.”

The boat pitched beneath Patrick’s feet, and his gritted his teeth. His stomach had never really settled; he’d mostly just been ignoring it. But he had the feeling that wasn’t going to last. 

By the time Jonny finally managed to get his fish out of the water, with a jerk of his line and a triumphant shout, the boat had really started rocking and rolling with the waves. Jonny, damn him, was so pleased with himself over his hundred and five pound fish (and yes, Patrick was willing to admit that was bigger than either of his, _shut up, Jonny_ ) that he barely seemed to notice. Patrick had reclaimed his seat on the bench with a ginger ale clutched firmly in his hand. 

“Do we have time for another?” Jonny asked once they’d released the fish. He glanced at his watch, then at the sky. 

“No, I think we’d better head back,” Anita said. “I want us to be on our way before the storm gets any closer. And Patrick’s looking pretty green.”

Jonny glanced at him sharply. Patrick didn’t bother to deny it. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jonny asked. He slid onto the bench beside Patrick as Anita put the rods away securely. 

“Wanted you to get your fish,” Patrick muttered, leaning his head on Jonny’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to make yourself sick for it.” Jonny tangled his fingers in Patrick’s hair. “You need anything?”

“I need the boat to stop moving,” Patrick said. “Or to be on dry land.”

Jonny glanced at Anita. “How long’s the trip back?”

“Pretty close to two hours,” she said, starting the engine.

Patrick groaned. 

“Just aim over the side,” she told him. “Do not puke on my boat when there is a whole ocean of fish happy to be fed.”

Jonny snorted at the joke. Patrick glared.

He was definitely not going to be sick, he thought. This was ridiculous. Mind over fucking matter. He was a goddamn professional hockey player. He knew it was possible to play through pain. People actually had a lot more control over their bodies than they thought, and he was not going to be sick. 

He was definitely going to be sick. 

He lunged for the railing just in time to lose it over the side. There wasn’t much in his stomach except for the crackers and some ginger ale, but it still made him feel a little better to get rid of it. He straightened up and felt Jonny’s hand land between his shoulder blades, heavy and comforting. 

Jonny handed him a water bottle. “Rinse and spit.” Patrick obediently rinsed and spat, then took a couple hesitant sips. Jonny squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s just hang out here for a couple minutes.” 

“Okay,” Patrick said, leaning into him. He took some deep breaths, trying without much luck to feel a little less woozy. Standing at the railing was marginally better than sitting down, and the water helped as long as he took very small sips. 

“Better or worse than that time at Shattuck?” Jonny asked him eventually. 

It took Patrick a few seconds to realize Jonny was talking about the time he’d gotten sick on a road trip his junior year. “Worse,” he said. “I wasn’t on a fucking boat then.”

Jonny grimaced. “I didn’t know you got seasick, or I wouldn’t have suggested this.”

“I didn’t know either.” Patrick ducked his head, breathing carefully through his nose. “Jesus. We are never doing this again.”

Jonny frowned. “You’re not really going to let this turn you off fishing forever, are you?”

Patrick could not even. “Yeah, I think I might. This kind of fishing, anyway. You can take David or your dad if you want to do this shit again, because I’m not going.”

“If you’d eaten or taken Dramamine before getting on the boat –”

“Oh yeah, definitely bring that up again,” Patrick said. “That’s super helpful.”

“Pat –”

“You know what? Just go sit down. I’m fine.”

Jonny threw his hands up and walked away. Patrick scowled at the ocean. Jonny had a lot of nerve getting pissy with him. They still had over an hour left in this boat ride from hell, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through it. And Jonny wasn’t going to be any help at all, apparently. 

Sulking and seasickness went pretty well together, it turned out. Patrick stayed at the railing with his back turned firmly to Jonny. He could hear Jonny talking to Anita, but with the way the wind was starting to pick up, he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He stewed in his own misery, distracting himself with his _totally justified_ annoyance at Jonny for being an insensitive dick. 

That worked for a while. But the wind kept picking up and the water kept getting rougher. Eventually, there was no way for Patrick to distract himself from how miserable he was. He was covered in cold sweat, and he felt like he’d spent the last three hours on a nonstop roller coaster. 

“Hey,” Jonny said, sidling up next to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Patrick managed, too sick to muster the energy to be mad. “Me too.”

“I’d ask how you’re doing, but you look like shit.”

Patrick swallowed and pressed his hand against his mouth, not even daring to speak for a few seconds. “How much longer have we got?” he asked, once the immediate danger seemed to have passed. 

“About thirty minutes, Anita says. She says you’ll start feeling better as soon as you’re back on dry land.”

“I hope so,” Patrick muttered. 

“And I’m your willing servant for the rest of the day,” Jonny told him. “Seriously, Pat, whatever you want.”

“You sure you want to make that kind of promise?”

“Yes,” Jonny said. “It assuages my guilt.”

If Patrick had had the energy, he would’ve rolled his eyes. “Neither of us knew. I don’t blame you.”

“Kinda seemed like you did earlier.”

“Don’t.” Patrick had to stop and breathe as acid burned the back of his throat. “Just – can we do this later?” he finally choked out. 

Jonny rubbed his hand up and down between Patrick’s shoulder blades. “Yeah. Okay.” He hesitated. “Feel free to tell me to shut up, but, um. I know you think the yoga and mindfulness stuff is silly, but it’s sort of helpful with pain?”

Patrick nearly snapped at him again, but at the last second he managed not to. That shit _had_ helped Jonny during his concussion. “How so?” 

“Pain doesn’t have to be suffering. Try not to fight it. Just...be with it. Be okay with not feeling well.”

“If I don’t fight it, I’ll throw up,” Patrick told him. 

Jonny shrugged. “So throw up.”

“I don’t want to. It’s fucking gross.”

Jonny shrugged again. “I’m just telling you what helped me.”

Patrick took a deep breath. “I know. Thanks. It’s worth a shot, I guess.” Not that he really knew what Jonny meant about “be with the pain.” But he’d been fighting hard for the last hour and a half – hell, for the last _five_ hours – to _not_ be nauseated, by turns telling himself that he didn’t feel as bad as he did and resisting the urge to puke. Now he tried to relax, leaning into Jonny and not fighting so hard. He felt lousy, and that was okay, he told himself. If he puked, he puked. Jonny had seen it before and wasn’t going to hold it against him. It sucked, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

“How are you doing?” Jonny asked after a couple of minutes. “You feel less tense.”

“Maybe.” Patrick leaned his head on Jonny’s shoulder. “I feel sick and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m nauseated and my head hurts and I’m dizzy and I’m covered in sweat.” He swallowed. “But the wind feels good. And I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Jonny said, and pulled him closer. 

“Oh, fuck no,” Patrick said, and shoved him away so he could throw up over the side of the boat. 

“And they say romance is dead,” Jonny said dryly. 

“Go to hell, Toews,” Patrick managed, and heaved again.

Mindfulness or no mindfulness, Patrick had never been so fucking glad to stagger off a boat and onto dry land before in his life. He was _done_ with boats. Possibly for the rest of his life. He resisted the urge to flop down and kiss the ground, but it was a close thing. 

“Feel better, Patrick,” Anita told him as she handed the boat off to the dock crew. “You should start to feel normal again pretty fast, but take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” There were some clouds gathering on the horizon, and it looked like rain. He figured he didn’t need much excuse to hang out with Jonny on the porch of their tented suite. 

The two of them headed up the path, Jonny’s hand on Patrick’s back like he might collapse at any moment. Patrick thought about complaining, but there didn’t seem to be any point. If Jonny wanted to coddle him, he wasn’t going to argue about it. Between the low blood sugar and the dehydration, he had a raging headache. 

Back at their tent suite, Patrick immediately dropped into one of the chaise lounges with a faint groan. He had a view of the ocean from here, and that was exactly as close to it as he wanted to get to it for the rest of the day. Jonny disappeared inside and came out with a bottle of the local ginger beer they’d bought for making dark and stormies with minibar rum. “Sip that,” he said, handing the bottle to Patrick. “I’m going to go find something for you to eat. You’re going to be starving once the nausea wears off.”

Patrick smiled gratefully. “Thanks. Hey,” he added, just as Jonny was about to leave. “You mean it earlier? Were you really feeling guilty enough to promise me whatever I want for the rest of the day? Because it wasn’t really your fault.”

Jonny shrugged. “Yeah, I did mean it. I, um.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost looking embarrassed. “It sucked, seeing you feeling so lousy, and I did feel like it was kind of my fault. Which is probably why I was kind of a dick. So, any special requests?”

“Mmm, one of those tropical fruit plates,” Patrick said, stretching. “With strawberries. And pineapple.” 

“Think I can handle that,” Jonny said. “I’ll see if they have ginger chews, too.” He bent down and kissed Patrick on the forehead. “Back soon.”

Patrick curled up in his lounge chair to sip his ginger beer and watch the storm roll in. Being on land was _great_ , he thought. The greatest. And having Jonny at his beck and call wasn’t bad either. But better than either of those was knowing that next time they had to pick a vacation destination, Patrick had a foolproof card to play.

That might almost be worth it. 

_Fin._


End file.
